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July 13, 2014

These are
creatures of the
that I
bear during

uncouth, arrogant Day,
deigns no comfort for
their existence.

Only Night,
demure, soft-speaking Night,
broods them
to the fullness
of term.

For the rude,
intolerant brightness
of Day
shrieks at
their unnatural visage,
pushes them back
into the womb’s

Only night’s Moon
succours them
with its milky radiance,
the golden mead
of the Sun being
vilest viper venom
to their young
tender mouths.

No birth pangs
their creation;
fully formed
they spring forth
with such hale vigour
and confidence
that I become
but an adjunct,
a pale copy
of their existence,
as if they are
the begetter
and I am but a helpless infant
devoid of all knowledge,
sapped of all

Born with
no blood
nor nature’s yolk,
they feast
on the nearest flesh,
consuming voraciously
that of which they came,
like hideous grubs
their creator
from inside.

So eager are they
to leave their natal home,
they themselves
chew off
the life cord
that once
bound them to me,
my own offspring
made my




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  1. Now here, unlike “Dog’s Tale”, you don’t spell out what the “creatures of the night” are. (Unless I’m being obtuse.) Are they cancer cells? Are they the words that you write? This is a valid choice, frequently employed in allegorical works, and one I very rarely have the courage to make. Interesting and vivid writing. Thanks for playing!

    • thanks Doug! I will send you a message on FB regarding this poem.

      When you say “this is a valid choice”, do you mean the choice to not spell out what “creatures of the night” are?

  2. Divine.

    Rich in Greek mythology.


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  1. SunWinks! July 13, 2014: The H.M.S. Metaphor Goes On Extended Holiday | Writing Essential Group

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